Part of the flame creature reared up like the head of a cobra at me, so I bombarded it with magic. The crackling voltage passed through it harmlessly, but my presumption in attacking pissed the thing right off. It settled on Rohan like an anaconda, squeezing hard enough to bug his eyes out. The flaminess of it was similar to one of the magic types that marids possessed but this wasn’t a demon. More like… a trap.
I couldn’t fire because the only thing my magic would hurt was my boyfriend and I wasn’t done with him yet. I scrabbled for a hold on it, fear making my fingers clunky.
Grabbing at flames: also not a thing.
I ended up grabbing Ro’s shoulders, elbow deep in this entity that seeped into my skin like a toxic spill. My flesh split and reddened with burn lesions bulging with pus.
Rohan was turning blue, his thrashing growing weaker.
There was no way to fight and my flight instincts were screaming at me, so I grabbed the painting in one hand and yanked on Rohan. Magic bloomed inside me, not the white hot crackle of electricity, but a slow sensual unfurling of something more primordial.
The world shifted. The library disappeared, replaced by the shadow of the palm tree in the rabbi’s backyard that we now stood under.
Rohan gulped air down. His shirt was torn, his torso and arms a mass of bluish-purple bruises overlaid on blistered, burned skin.
I dropped to his side, ignoring the searing burn from the blistering mess running from my elbows to my fingertips and the melted latex on my hands. I patted him down, checking for injuries, but before I could ask him if he was okay, he jerked away and in a voice laced with dread asked, “What are you?”
14
What are you? Rohan’s question rang ’round and ’round in my head. Why hadn’t his first reaction been to have my back? Or a simple “Thanks, Nava. So glad I’m not dead.” Was he scared of me now?
I stared out the plane’s window, flexing my gauze-encased fingers, the skin pulling tight over my knuckles. I can’t imagine what Carlos thought when we returned all beaten up, but he’d provided a first aid kit and dressed our burns. I’m sure charter jet employees were paid for their discretion.
I’d always been different from the other Rasha, just by the fact of being female. If I had magic abilities that they didn’t, why did that matter? Was Rohan viewing me differently now?
The leather couch squeaked as Rohan sat down beside me. “Are we going to talk about this?” He was still hoarse from the attack.
I shrugged, keeping my focus on the clouds.
“Will you please look at me?”
I stared at him, impassive.
He pressed an ice pack to his ribs, his shirtless torso a mass of pulpy bruises. Luckily, the burns were healing quickly. “What I said. I didn’t mean–it came out wrong.”
“Ah. So you don’t think I’m a freak among freaks?”
“No. But you aren’t like the rest of us, either.” He shifted stiffly and winced. “Our powers don’t grow stronger over time, but you keep getting layers.”
“That’s on my trainers for their failure to know the full spectrum of my electric magic.”
“Maybe. But you portalled us. That’s not connected to your magic.”
Like I hadn’t been circling back to that for the past six hours.
I headed to the telecommunications center at the far end of the jet. Every step sent fresh hell blazing down my injured arms. I traced my finger over the canvas, but the delicate brush strokes had no further secrets to yield. “Ari portals.”
“Ari shadow transports. It’s at least connected to his magic. Though, after this afternoon, I can’t help wonder if that ability is a result of your twin thing and you not being tested in the first place. That he can do it because you can.”
He wasn’t the only one wondering that.
“Did you know?” Rohan stood directly behind me.
The painting was rich with shadow, but Malik had captured pools of light, a certain radiance affiliated with holy births and moments of awe that was both chilling and captivating in this context. But then, that was that marid for you. “Know what?”
“That you could portal.”
I spun around, fists clenched. “Hell, yeah. I’m also waiting for the right moment to spring my invisibility and flight on you.” I shoved past him but he caught me by the waist in a gentle hold.
He tossed the ice pack onto the table. “I’m sorry. Please talk to me. This is upsetting you way more than it should.”
I didn’t want to talk to him. His words after I’d rescued us still stung. I could pull away, slam my walls up, and let him stew. Hello, comfort zone.
It was so tempting, but scary as it was to break that pattern, I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I couldn’t be, not in this relationship. I bowed my head, silently repeating the words until I had the courage to say them aloud.
“What if I’m a witch?” I helped myself to a Coke from the small tray of drinks that Carlos had left out for us so I didn’t have to face him as I spoke. “Because if I am a witch, I’m not Rasha.”
“Technically, Rasha are kind of mini-witches. Witches lite.” Rohan planted himself in front of me, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “You’d be better than Rasha.”
I doubted that. The snag in my hypothesis was that my magic signature wasn’t red and neither Dr. Gelman nor Sienna had pegged me as a witch, so if I was one, I was a pretty pathetic shadow of one. No longer unique, merely one of a multitude–and a half-assed one at that. I ran my unburned thumb along the edge of the tab. “Right. The Brotherhood would totally see me as better.”
“Like you care what they think.”
I popped the tab on the Coke hard enough to send up a fine mist of soda. “I care what some of them think.”
“Some of us would think it’s pretty fucking cool.” My mouth fell open and Rohan grinned at me. “What? It’d be like dating–”
“Wonder Woman?”
“Not even remotely.” He looked like he was about to elaborate so I clapped my hand over his mouth. He nipped me and I dropped my hand. “Sabrina,” he proclaimed.
I pulled my punch to his shoulder at the last second out of respect for his injury. “The teenaged witch? Rethink that, you perv.” I snapped my fingers, which was a terrible idea because a) they made no noise with my bandages on and b) snapping fucking hurt when burned. “Doctor Strange.”
Rohan grabbed a water bottle and twisted the cap off. “Quit it.”
“Quit what?”
He took a sip and wiped his mouth off. “Whatever weird shit you’re imagining with me and Benedict Cumberbatch.”
“You should be so lucky. For an old guy, he’s pretty hot.” I chugged back the pop. It was warmer than I liked, but I appreciated the sugar rush tingling my teeth and burning my throat. “I like being the only girl Rasha.”
“You like shit disturbing. If this is true and we’ve got a witch in our ranks?” He whistled and made a bomb exploding noise. “We’re in this together. Along with Ari, and Kane, and Drio, and Rabbi Abrams, and Baruch and Ms. Clara if you’ll let me tell them. Not to mention Mahmud, and at least a half dozen other guys that will have our back.”
“Against all the other Rasha and the Executive.”
“No. Against a few corrupt assholes. I’m willing to bet that most of the Rasha have no clue this is going on and if they did, they’d be as mad as we are. They’ll be on your side.”